


lover, please stay

by leslie057



Series: Jancy week 2020 [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Canon Divergence, Christmas, F/M, Post-Break Up, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leslie057/pseuds/leslie057
Summary: christmas eve, and all its heartache.written for jancy week day 2 theme: seasons(post season 3, but the byers family stayed in hawkins)
Relationships: Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler
Series: Jancy week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994266
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	lover, please stay

_Lover, I know you're weary_   
_Theres a time from the night_   
_Lover, come to the kitchen floor_   
_Tiles are cold, so am I_

_Lover, please stay_

* * *

  
  
The Christmas Eve party is a hellscape. She doesn’t mean it in a funny way. She feels unwanted, unusual, unwell. It’s like her brain has dissolved and pieces of sponge have been left buoyant in her head with the smell of Karen Wheeler’s burning incense. Her stomach is heavy with hot chocolate; half of it went to her blood in the same way acid trickles through a drain and the other half just _settled._ If she were to lift up her shirt, she’s sure that there would be a charred ring in the pale skin of her torso. 

Her therapist told her coming home would be a relief. But her therapist doesn’t know anything. Doesn’t know about the curse on this town which she left for eight months or _a thing_ about the boy she left. Truthfully, she only visits the counseling center because she has no one to talk to. The more session coupons she gets, the less pathetic it seems. Waste not, sulk not. 

Like in many relationships, what happened to her and Jonathan came from a misunderstanding.  
  


To her, it only made sense that they would be with each other after graduation. Lone paths dovetailing either because they wanted them to or the universe itself did. She always thought a bigger city like New York would get along with him. Provide a place where he could be invisible and important at once. Where they _both_ could. When she had fuzzy ideas about their future, she brought them up. And when she brought them up, it was rarely. Though his silence that would follow should have been a deafening omen, she guesses she was too dumb to realize. To realize that he wasn’t ready to leave. 

Today, she can see that he never will be. He probably thinks that if he left his family, they would turn to _damn ash_. 

In the kitchen, she is hiding. It’s almost five, and they’ll be here any minute. Her anticipation is not pleasant or sparkling. The monarch butterflies, if they’re there, do not tickle her insides. Instead, they torture her.

Since the breakup, she’s been mostly numb. She’ll be thankful if things stay that way through the night. Crying over him all through May was not fun, in fact, it was humiliating. He had not promised himself to her, nor had he ever made any promises to begin with. 

What’s sick is that she _still_ tells herself they will date again. He’ll love her again, merely because she needs him to.

“Nancy.”

Her heart splutters, and she barely stops herself from letting out a scream. “Don’t _do that_ ,” she breathes. 

“Sorry, honey.” Mom steps past her and examines the tomato soup on the stove. “God, did you forget to stir it?”

She stares blankly at the bubbling meal, lips parted in discomfort. “I’m...sorry.” 

“Look, you can go pour it out in the bushes. I have time to start again.” 

Her mother forces the pot into her nervous hands, and after hesitating, she forces herself to walk. She rounds the corner, regaining her composure or trying to, and pulls open the front door. 

When she’s met by Joyce, El, and Will, she can’t even be shocked. 

“Hey, Nancy. It’s good to see you,” Joyce says. Her expression is warm and sincere, almost like she _isn’t_ talking to the girl that broke her son’s heart. 

“Hi, Ms. Byers. Hi, guys.” The corners of her mouth lift naturally, and she only has to force the sweetness of her voice halfway. 

“I like your hair,” El offers kindly, “you look like Melanie Safka.”

She looks down at herself, loose curls continuing to the end of her sternum. The wind blows her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t,” she moves aside and pushes open the door with her hip, “but thank you.” Her own mother pulls them into the house, and she is happy to be left alone with the cold and the shrubs. 

She overturns the pot by the handle, watching the hot scarlet liquid splash the leaves. She twists around and— _oh_ , she’s not alone. 

She was wondering where he was. 

And _here he is._

Is it weird of her to first think that he’s beautiful? Because seeing him nearly knocks the air out of her lungs. It’s not that he looks very different, but…

Behind him the sky is grey and hazy, yet the sun has not sunk, and it lights him perfectly. She can tell by the set of his shoulders that he’s tired, she can tell by his _eyes_ that he’s tired. Dark and somewhat glazed. As endearing as they are puffy. His hair is a paler and softer brown than she remembers. It’s long (like she likes it), all in his eyes (like she likes it), and even a little wavy. She has no idea why he’s wearing a t-shirt in the snow, but he is, and it’s faded along with his jeans. There’s a dusting of dirt on him; he must have been working. More physical stuff than in the past, maybe. Inventory at the grocery store or something. He’s still quite thin. 

Shit, did he say something to her? She wasn’t listening. 

Was it ‘hey?’ Wait, she thinks it was ‘hey.’ And then ‘how’s it going?’ 

She thinks…

“Hey, um, I’m good. How are you?”

“Uh, I’m…”

_What?_

“I’m fine,” he decides.

Time hangs in the air above them like a menace, and she sobers herself. “I’ll, um, be in in a minute,” she gestures to the pot, “I burned this so we’re scrapping it.” 

It draws a laugh out of him, both gentle and rough, and she heads back to the bushes without looking at him again. She hopes he didn’t see that the container was already empty. 

After he closes the door, she exhales deeply, breath turning to white vapor in front of her. There’s an aching in her. Her bones feel tender and—what is it? What is the surge of _feeling_ creeping up on her? No, not creeping, saturating. It makes her so angry. All the months she filled training herself to not care, all her progress...lost. 

Everything would have been perfect if he had gone with her. Everything would be perfect, right now. They would walk inside together, and she would drag him upstairs. 

They begin to thaw. He doesn’t think she should be avoiding her parents so soon, but he hides out in her room with her all the same. On her bed, he pulls the neck of her shirt open wide and kisses along her neck and ears. They make jokes about whatever strange things they saw on the trip over, and she is free to touch his hair as much as she wants. She combs through it, combs the snow out of it. After a while, he encourages her to go downstairs. And they do, and it’s not difficult to talk to her parents, and Christmas Eve dinner is nice. 

And he _stays._ Stays the night. Stays with her as she stays with him. 

There she goes again. The monarchs are ripping her stomach to shreds, but she embraces the torture. 

Because, if she lives the rest of her life with _ideas_ of him, it will be better than nothing. And the memory of him could stay with her. He could stay. 

  
  
  
_Please stay._   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> title from the nothing but thieves song
> 
> (sorry this is depressing)


End file.
